Shield
by Claud205
Summary: After Deathwing descends on Stormwind, one woman begins her quest to fight back against the insane aspect. Isadell tries to live up to the legacy of her mother, who died an unremembered hero, but the world is dark and dangerous. Her fate may turn out to be nothing more than a repeat of the past.


The day it all began, I woke with a hangover that could topple even a dwarf. I wish I could say the sun was blinding me, but no, it was raining. Which meant that what had seemed like a nice, comfortable place to sleep the night before – curled up in the dirt at the base of one of the trees that lined the canal district – was now a puddle of mud. There was an awful squelch as I lifted my head. I fumbled blindly for my hair and, yep, my long locks were twisted into a rope by the sticky mess. I groaned in horror. My face was caked in the stuff. Eyes still closed, I turned my face up to the sky and let the rain drench my face, hoping it could get rid of some of the filth.

Footsteps came towards me. Loud, clanging, plate-shod feet marching in perfect rhythm, rattling around in my skull. I scrubbed fiercely at my face and squinted at the approaching guard. I didn't bother with attempting a winning smile; I had a bad feeling that my teeth were in a bit of a state.

"Ma'am, I must ask you to move on." I noticed that he stopped a few metres away. Normally they came in close and loomed, all menacing. I must've reeked.

"Will do, Sir," I promised. My voice was hoarse, and the words scraped at my abused throat. I forced my eyes wider and took a look around, careful not to move my head too fast. Shops. Long, red brick roads curving round corners. Behind me, the canal, drifting peacefully past the stockade, where I was going to be heading if I didn't get a grip. I tried to spot the tall spires of the cathedral. I had lived in Stormwind all my life, but the problem was, when one was tired and hungover and couldn't see straight, it was quite easy for navigation to be all too much to ask.

"Could you please point me towards cathedral square, good sir?" I asked, employing the good manners the matron had instilled in me. The guard paused. I couldn't see his face behind those helmets they all wore (and how exactly could you fight like that?), but I could take a good guess at what he was thinking. No one was exactly forbidden from going where they wanted in Stormwind, but he clearly didn't like the thought of some filthy vagabond wandering into the most sacred part of the city. Tough luck. Giving directions was a part of his duty, and I'd happily remind him if he slipped up. But there was no need.

He pointed, gave his directions without even a hint of a grudge in his tone, and told me quite politely to have a good day. I staggered to my feet on legs that shook. My stomach turned horribly. I mumbled a thank you, swallowed the bile that surged in my throat, and took off.

As it turned out, once I got started, my feet knew the way. Things turned familiar as the fluff in my head dissipated. Unfortunately, pain replaced it. Light, I felt awful. I ignored the few people I passed, mostly guards at this early hour, and avoided looking up, keeping my gaze on my feet. My scruffy boots splashed through puddles. I went against my best instincts at one point and wandered closer to the canal, trying to get a glimpse of my reflection out of the corner of my eye, but it was no use. The normally mirror-still water was rippled by the falling rain, and my image was distorted. I assumed that I was a pathetic sight, which I could only hope would work in my favour. I couldn't go back to my shared room like this; everybody would kick me out. I had only one option.

By the time I got into the cathedral district, I was feeling miserable and cold. I didn't know what I would do if I got turned away. I'd beg, if I needed to. Some of the memories from last night were coming back, bringing with them the dark thoughts that sent me to the bottom of a bottle in the first place. I needed someone.

I approached the large, white stone building. Not the cathedral; I avoided that place as much as possible. This building was smaller, and sat in the centre of the square, facing a large, beautiful fountain. Stuffed dollies and other toys looked out from the windows. I slunk up the slope to the front door and knocked quietly, suddenly unsure that I should be here. I felt too ashamed. This place always did this to me. I was just thinking that I should go elsewhere when the door swung open.

"By the Light!" the grey-haired woman exclaimed. The shock on the Matron's face was priceless. Even despite my misery, I couldn't help but be amused. But then she recognized me.

"Oh, Isadell, dear." Matron's face crumpled with pity. "Not again."

* * *

The day didn't exactly get any better. Matron got me stripped, washed, plonked in front of the fire with a mug of watery tea in what seemed like moments, all while keeping up a running stream of lectures. I'd commented in wonder at her efficiency, and she'd reminded me that she had years of daily practice in cleaning up stupid children, 'although at 24 years old I should have hoped I'd be done with scrubbing you up, Isadell'. Too true.

I was used to the lectures though. Too used to them. Her words rolled off me like water off oiled leather. That day, however, things changed. As I sat in the wooden chair, eyes on the clean hair that draped over my shoulder, admiring the golden sheen the red locks gained in the firelight, I suddenly heard her sob.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Tears rolled down her lined cheeks. "You're going to die," she'd cried, her eyes already filled with grief. "If this keeps on, you're going to die. Is that what you want?"

I hadn't been able to answer her. Thankfully, I didn't need to. We were surrounded on all sides by bunk beds holding children that, of course, only pretended to sleep through my arrival. Matron's tears upset some of the little ones, and they started to cry, too. She had to get up to soothe them, and I took the chance to escape back out into the rain.

The day went by in a blur of pain and backbreaking labour. I'd learned early on that hurts of the heart could be ignored if only one was tired and aching enough. I had plenty of acquaintances throughout the city that I could call on to find work. I helped lift crates of engineering supplies off and on the Deeprun Tram. I helped lift and sort barrels in the basement of the Pig and Whistle Tavern. By early evening, I was helping heave pieces of the toppled statue of Danath Trollbane out of the lake in the Valley of Heroes. All day, I was surrounded by people who were grim and quiet. And no wonder. The builders and I worked under the shadow of Deathwing's claws, their imprints still smoldering in the stone.

We finished shortly after sundown, and then I was left with nothing to push back the dark thoughts crowding in my mind. I knew why Matron thought I was going to die. Right now, everyone in the city thought they were going to die. Death had crashed into mighty Stormwind with a roar of fire, and now it felt like nothing could put us back together again. Certainly, nothing would bring back the Park District.

I trudged behind the marching labourers, all thinking of home and family. All I could think of was escape. Drip by drip, the memories of last night were coming back, and with them, the dark despair. I had to escape. But there was only one escape I knew I could find.

* * *

I don't remember much after that. I know I went to the Gilded Rose, because it was the closest tavern, and I needed the numbing relief of drink as soon as I could get it down my throat. That night, I was far from the only one to seek to drown my sorrows. It had been a few days now. The shock was wearing off, and all were beginning to feel the fear and grief. The taverns had good business that night.

Light knows what happened after that. I have vague memories of sitting in the corner, surrounded on all sides by dead-eyed men and women, ignoring them as much as they were ignoring me. Snippets of worried conversation; the King had ordered that the Hero's Call Board be erected again in the Trade District. The kingdom hadn't even begun to heal after the war against the Lich King, and now the call was going out for able bodied men and women to join in the fight against the newest evil to threaten the world. People cried into their drinks at the thought of all the young one's they would lose. They cried remembering all they had lost to the cold of Northrend. Everyone thought of how smug they had all secretly been, thinking that beautiful Elwynn had escaped the violent upheaval of the Cataclysm practically unscathed. And now look at what had happened. Through it all, I stared into the stains on the wall and dredged through my own hurt, selfishly drowning myself in darkness.

_I shouldn't be alive. _I thought, over and over and over again. _I don't deserve to be alive._

The next thing I remember, I was back in the Valley of Heroes. I was on my knees before the towering statue of Alleria Windrunner. I had a half empty skin of stout in my hands. My face was drenched in tears. I was drunk enough that I swayed gently, despite being sat down, but somehow, this memory is clear and vivid. The fury of my feelings imprinted it on my mind, where it still burns me.

It was the exact same position I had been in the night before. And the night two weeks before that, and countless other nights over the last ten or so years, ever since I grew tall enough to weasel my way into getting a hold of my first swig of wine. I kept coming back here whenever the drink took my clear thoughts away, drawn to it like a scared child to their parent's arms. It was the only place that I could feel close to my mother.

My mother. I didn't remember her. She was gone too early. But I knew she was a paladin, and the stone woman in front of me looked like I imagined my mother must have looked. Strong, fearless, beautiful. But it was more than wishful thinking that brought me back to this statue again and again. My mother marched into the Orc homeworld of Draenor and was lost, the same as fierce Alleria Windrunner. As a child, I half fooled myself that the statue was in tribute to my mother. It was the closest thing I had to a grave.

I looked up at that statue and I cried. The pain in my heart was just too much. My whole life, I'd mourned my mother, but in recent years, that feeling had changed. I'd started to mourn myself. I had no life; I worked, I drank, I slept badly. My mother was a hero. She died to protect me, and the world I lived in. But I had proven myself unworthy. I was nothing. I sobbed until my throat felt like it would tear, clutching the skin of stout to my heart like the children clutched their stuffed toys.

"Mother, mother, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't deserve it."

Light knows what the guards must have thought.

That night was the night that I really admitted to myself just how much I hated myself. I had kept the pain under wraps with work and routine for years, but then Deathwing had blown open so many wounds. There was so much pain ahead. I didn't feel like I could face it.

On that bridge, under the cold stars, I asked myself so many questions. If I were to die under Deathwing's claws, could I face my mother with pride? Could I face her as an equal? Would I pass over with no regrets, would I feel like I had honored her sacrifice? Of course not. The shame and guilt were overwhelming.

And underneath all that, there was terror. Matron was right. If I carried on like this, I would die. Not honorably, but pathetically, my whole life a waste. I could feel the despair pulling me under, directing me to the edge of the bridge. A voice asked me, _Why not end it now? Cut short your suffering. Just let go._

But something awakened in me then. A fire sparked in my chest, and I found myself answering with anger, _No. _I wouldn't let it end like this. I wouldn't continue to life a half-life like this.

It seemed so clear to me then. Stormwind was a trap, I thought. If I stay here, I will never break free of this life. I have to leave. And I wildly decided to follow a starry-eyed child's dream, one I had kept close to my chest since I was a little girl. I wanted to make my way in the world with only the sharpness of my blade and the keenness of wits. I would be a hero that could look my mother in the eye with a straight back. I was going to help save the world.

And so I staggered back into the city. I must have gone back to my shared room, gathered up my things, every copper I had left, because when I woke up the next morning it was all there, in my tatty backpack. Which was a Light blessed miracle, as I had passed out in the dirt on the side of the road halfway to Goldshire. How I managed to live through the night without a cutthroat slicing me open and taking everything, I'll never know. It wasn't the best start.

I still don't know whether I made the right decision.


End file.
